


The Poignancy Of Silence, Pt. II

by TheYesterdayShow



Series: The Poignancy Of Silence [2]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Background Sleep | Remy Sanders, College, Deceit hears music!, Depression, Gambling, Hispanic Character, Hurt/Comfort, I swear, It's Roman, Kissing, Libraries, Like he's there for a literal minute, Love, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Part 2!, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), References to Depression, Remember?, Renaissance Faires, Restraining Orders, Roceit - Freeform, Slightly graphic thoughts, Songs, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Unsympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, but so much COMFORT, discussion of suicide, in the past, just a reference though, no beta we die like men, no one dies, so much hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21600436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheYesterdayShow/pseuds/TheYesterdayShow
Summary: Part 2 in the series! You don't need to read part 1 to really understand it (but part 1 will explain some things).-Professor Reynolds, wanting the students in his Masters program to get real-world experience, requested local firms to send real cases for his classes. He assigned them to students based on grades, priority, and type. For example, a failing student might be assigned an everyday, low-level case, while the top of the class would get intriguing, high-level cases. Dee was somewhere in the middle, receiving low-priority cases that were still decently interesting, and he was learning a lot.Those the case concerned were asked to sign a slip, acknowledging that it would be handled by a student, and in turn, that they wouldn’t sue the firm. As Dee was handling this case, Roman Gutierrez had obviously given permission.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Deceit Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit Sanders, Deceit Sanders & Sleep | Remy Sanders
Series: The Poignancy Of Silence [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1553818
Comments: 13
Kudos: 90





	The Poignancy Of Silence, Pt. II

“Oh, Mr. Boiga. You’ve never done a restraining order, have you?”

“No, sir.”

Professor Reynolds handed him a folder. “There you are. Name’s Roman Gutierrez. He’s asked for a restraining order against his brother. I’ll need you write three pages about each meeting. More details are in the folder.”

Dee rubbed the scruff that grew on one side of his face. “How many meetings will it take?”

“As many as necessary.”

-

Professor Reynolds, wanting the students in his Masters program to get real-world experience, requested local firms to send real cases for his classes. He assigned them to students based on grades, priority, and type. For example, a failing student might be assigned an everyday, low-level case, while the top of the class would get intriguing, high-level cases. Dee was somewhere in the middle, receiving low-priority cases that were still decently interesting, and he was learning a lot.

Those the case concerned were asked to sign a slip, acknowledging that it would be handled by a student, and in turn, that they wouldn’t sue the firm. As Dee was handling this case, Roman Gutierrez had obviously given permission.

The public library had a private conference room. Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, it was reserved from 3pm—8pm for students, who signed up for hour-long slots. This service was generally utilized by the law students and tutors. After some communication, Dee reserved a slot on Friday for 5pm—6pm.

-

Roman Gutierrez hardly spoke. At points during their meeting, Dee looked up and thought that Roman Gutierrez could have been handsome, were his hair combed, his eyes not unbearably sad, the dark shadows from his light grey hood not quite hiding the smattering of freckles on his cheeks and nose.

“So I looked up your brother, Remus Gutierrez. Apparently he’s currently on parole after trying to steal the car in the mall?”

Roman Gutierrez shrugged. When he spoke, his voice was unbelievably soft, making Dee wonder if he’d ever raised it. “Hadn’t heard about that one. It does sound like Remus, though.”

They’d been in the conference room for forty minutes. Dee kept trying to get a reason out, why he wanted this restraining order, but Roman Gutierrez didn’t seem to want to talk about it—or anything, really. He’d even asked outright. The man had just shrugged again and looked away.

“Well, Mr. Gutierrez, unless you feel comfortable telling me why, I’m afraid we’ll have to end this meeting here.”

“I’m sorry,” Roman Gutierrez apologized immediately. “I'll—I’ll drop it, it’s not that important. I’m sorry for wasting your time.” He stood, awkwardly pulling on his over-sized hoodie.

“No, no,” Dee said, standing as well. “It’s fine. We can meet every week until we figure this out.” He glanced at the file. “I might be able to get the order based on what he’s done alone,” he added dubiously.

Roman Gutierrez sighed. “You’re busy. I don’t want to bother you.”

“You aren’t bothering me.” A lie. He was already annoyed that he’d wasted a good hour of his time trying to work with an uncooperative client who wasn’t even paying him. Still, he very much wanted to become a lawyer. He had to be dedicated to this man’s case.

“Really, I’ll be fine. I don’t need it.”

“Roman Gutierrez.”

The man winced, then looked at him. His eyes were an odd mix of grey and brown, a stormy sea, swallowing any positive emotions that tried to brave the thrashing waters. All frustration Dee felt for the man momentarily dissipated, replaced with fathomless pity.

“I will not give up until we resolve the issue. Trust me.” It hurt dully to say that, remembering all the times his lies had eaten away at his trustworthiness. It was okay, though, he realized, as the other man gave him a doubtful look. Roman Gutierrez didn’t trust him anyway.

-

Three meetings in and Roman Gutierrez still hadn’t explained his reason for wanting the restraining order. Outside of meetings, Dee was digging through reports of Remus Gutierrez, printing everything that could be of any help to his case. His folder grew steadily thicker, but he never opened it in the conference room of the public library.

They talked about memes, movies, politics. Dee expressed the pains of a law major and Roman Gutierrez confessed that he’d dropped out of community college to pursue a failing acting career. Dee found that odd. He didn’t really seem the acting type, but maybe he was different onstage. Happy.

Sometimes, a spark of something almost happy flashed in Roman Gutierrez’s eyes, pleasing Dee immensely for some unknown reason. The man was warming to him, cautious smiles and eye contact.

_Knock. Taptaptap. Knock knock._

Dee’s head swiveled toward the door. A couple of classmates were tapping on the window in the door, their personal songs that only Dee could hear emanating from the other side of the glass. They beckoned to Dee, who smiled briefly and shook his head.

“What do they want?” Roman Gutierrez asked uncomfortably.

“Oh, game night. Hitting the slots or whatever.”

Roman Gutierrez stood hurriedly. “Oh, I can go. Sorry for holding you up. Go have fun.”

Dee laughed a little and waved him back into his seat. Two meetings ago, he would’ve been begging for an escape from the fruitless conversation. Now, for some reason, he found that he was sort of enjoying their awkward chats. “No. Gambling was a habit I kicked about a year ago.” _And a year too late,_ he added to himself.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go?” Roman Gutierrez looked awkward as he looked at the door. “That guy seems to really want you to.”

Dee turned back to the door to see a blond man throwing flirty eyes at him. “Oh, that’s just Remy. He flirts with literally everyone, but won’t commit.” He knew. He’d been down that road.

Silence for a second. Then Roman Gutierrez said quietly, “He’s kinda hot.”

Somehow, the words made Dee a little … jealous? No. There was nothing to be jealous about. He was just a little mad at being ignored. He’d just said that Remy was a player, hadn’t he? Roman Gutierrez needed someone dependable.

-

They were meeting twice a week now. They could only meet once in the library conference room, so where the second meeting was varied. One week it might be in a cafe, the next in the campus library. For confidentiality purposes, Dee didn’t bring his folder on Remus Gutierrez to these meetings.

He told Roman Gutierrez that these meetings were for trust, and so he could get a better idea of why he needed a restraining order. There was another reason, though. One that he would never say aloud.

Roman Gutierrez didn’t have music.

The man had smiled, laughed (neither of which quite reached his eyes), but never a single note. Dee wondered if he actually had none, or if he just never truly experienced a positive emotion strong enough to trigger a tune. Before he’d met Roman Gutierrez, the only person without music had been Dee himself, a fact that often brought him down. Now, though, he wasn’t the only one. Who could blame him for wanting to get to know the man better?

They grew looser, more friendly. Dee found himself reminded of Roman in the most unexpected places and tasks. Their text thread, which had once been strictly formal, was now flooded with memes sent by both, captioned with little “saw this and thought of you”s and “me rn”s.

Dee saw their two meetings as the bright points of his week, his face lighting up when he saw those grey-brown eyes under that mop of dark hair, the fourteen freckles spotting his caramel-toned skin. His heart jumped at every smile, cheeks grew warm at every joke.

Dee couldn’t deny it now, couldn’t say that the reason he arranged the meetings was to study the man who had no music.

Dee had a crush on Roman Gutierrez.

-

Roman Gutierrez didn’t own a car, so Dee often picked him up or dropped him off at his town house. Roman had three roommates who were never home, architecture students who stayed out late and left home early every day.

Roman always seemed down—well, more down—at their parting. Dee always made him swear to send a text the next morning, and though Roman rolled his eyes, he always promised. Dee was growing increasingly worried that … that Roman Gutierrez might harm himself. Light research told him that the man displayed a good amount of the symptoms of depression. Maybe he was just being paranoid, maybe he just cared too much. Better safe than sorry, though. He really liked this man—far more than he’d liked anyone in years. He couldn’t lose him.

-

“I stayed with my dad on weekends.”

They were in the conference room again, but instead of sitting across from each other at the sleek table, they were relaxed on the floor. Dee had brought some pillows and Roman had ordered a pizza. The heavy folder sat untouched on the table.

“He wanted custody of me and Remus, but my mom wanted us too. They ended up splitting us. I kept dad’s name and visited every weekend,” Roman frowned. “Remus never visited us, though.” He smiled brightly; no music sounded. “But, all’s well that ends well.”

“It’s not the end yet.”

“No. The hero always has more challenges to overcome. But the ending of the story is magnificent.”

Dee hoped that was true. He wanted Roman Gutierrez to have the best ending possible.

He couldn’t help but remember everything he’d read in his high school literature class. Happy endings were nice. No one ever said they were guaranteed, or even common.

-

Dee filed the request for the restraining order. The document was packed with Remus Gutierrez’s wrong-doings and warnings from the law, as well as a short testimony from Roman.

He tried to tell himself that he hadn’t put it off, that he’d needed all his spare time to do homework, that it was okay that this project had extended a month past its tentative deadline.

It was hard to finally click ‘send’ on the very professional-looking email requesting the order. The meetings would end. He and Roman would drift apart. He’d never get the chance to hear the music that might not exist.

He decided then, that as soon as the request was approved, he would ask Roman Gutierrez out on a date.

-

_Hello?_

It wasn’t necessarily the message that immediately bothered him, nor the tone of it. What first stuck out was the fact that it was a voicemail, not a text.

_It’s Roman … Gutierrez. In case you know any other Romans._

Dee flew out the door, not bothering to put on a coat or shoes, despite the brisk autumn air of the night. He fairly threw himself into his old brown car.

_I, uh, I dunno. This is hard to say._

“C'mon, c'mon,” he muttered. The car was slow in the cold, he knew that. But this was important. He didn’t have time to wait for it to warm up, he needed to get to Roman.

_I’ve decided to drop everything against Remus._

He’d left an email open on his laptop before going to bed. A message from the firm, saying that they were certain it would be approved, there were just a few more hoops they needed to jump through. It was so close.

_So, I won’t be bothering you anymore._

The car finally started; Dee threw down his phone and swung it into reverse. His searches were still pulled up: how to talk someone out of suicide—what to do when you find a suicide note—when a loved one takes their own life—

_I’m sorry. For taking up your time. You didn’t need to patronize me. Sorry—sorry for making you put up with me._

That intersection, the one that was so busy during the day, the one that still brought painful flashbacks of waking up on asphalt and blood and that shining freckled face with the music he hadn’t heard in almost three years.

_So, um, please. Don't—er, you don’t need to contact me again. I—I won’t be bothering anyone again._ _**Click.** _

He drove recklessly. The radio showed a green 1:41 AM. The roads were the quietest Dee had ever seen them, no one waiting at intersections, no one honking at slow-moving pedestrians. He ran three red lights with no consequences, considering this a matter beyond traffic laws.

_Roman? Roman, please. When you get this message, call me back. We’ll talk about this. Please._

Here it was. The street with too many cars parked on the road. The town house with one car in the drive, the car with two flat tires and no air conditioning that none of Roman’s roommates ever bothered to fix.

_I’m coming over, okay? I’m coming over right now and we’ll talk about this. I’ll help you through this. Where are my keys—_ _**Click.** _

He tore the keys from the ignition and leaped out, slamming the door shut and running for the porch, the grass damp and poking under his bare feet. The window glowed through the curtains, so someone was up—and the other tenants weren’t home, judging by the singular (broken) car in the driveway.

_Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock._

“Roman, let me in,” Dee pleaded. “Come on! Please!”

_Knock-knock-knock-kn—_

Then the door was open, and Roman was there, and he was _alive_ and _here_ and Dee couldn’t hold himself back and wrapped him in a hug, needing to confirm his solidity. Roman froze, then gently detached himself.

“You haven’t taken anything, have you?” Dee asked frantically. “No drugs or poisons or anything?”

“What?” Roman sounded confused. Dee looked him up and down for signs of harm—sweatpants, t-shirt (for the first time, he noticed light, uneven scars on his forearms), messy hair. Tear tracks down his cheeks from red-rimmed eyes. “Why are you here?”

“You wouldn’t answer when I called!”

Roman shrugged, his feigned nonchalance entirely transparent. “Sorry, my phone died. That doesn’t mean you had to drive here at—” he checked an unseen clock— “almost two in the morning.”

All of the emotions that Dee had been keeping inside by sheer will burst out. The mind-numbing fear when he’d received the voicemail, the deep pits of dread in his stomach when Roman wouldn’t pick up, the panic as the car wouldn’t start and he was certain that Roman Gutierrez would be dead by the time he arrived—and he couldn’t stop seeing his lifeless body, blood pooling around his wrists or foam leaking from his mouth or—or—

“I thought you were going to kill yourself!” he yelled, tears spilling out onto his own hideous face. Roman’s face grew stony, but a tear rolled down his perfect face as well.

“Why would it matter to you if I did?” he said bitterly.

“Because I love you, you idiot!”

The shout echoed through the neighborhood, and Dee clamped his mouth shut. Never yell at or insult someone you believe is suicidal, one webpage had said. Oops.

Roman let out a jarring bark of laughter. “No, you don’t,” he corrected. “You think you do. But you don’t. No one ever does.”

“Okay, maybe I don’t. But I want to!” The truth was was spilling out uncomfortably, but Dee couldn’t stop. “I was planning to ask you out as soon as the case was closed! I—I feel good around you. Like I could mess up and not be embarrassed. Like I could say anything and know you would still care about me! I feel … happy.” And he knew it was true, even without music of his own to prove it.

Silence. Too long of a silence. Dee looked away, pretending to be enthralled with the tinkling wind chimes hanging on the neighbor’s porch.

“I know,” Roman choked out eventually. Dee turned his eyes back on him, saw the deluge of tears brimming in the man’s eyes. “I know. But—I was… .”

Dee nodded. He didn’t know what Roman was trying to say, but understood somehow.

Roman cleared his throat. “I called you because I just found out I’m getting evicted. Remus was the only person who offered me a place to stay.”

“That would be awkward,” Dee tried. He got a small, sad smile in return.

“Yes. Probably shouldn’t get a restraining order against the one person who’s giving me a home.”

“Wait—you’re actually accepting?”

“It’s my only option.”

“Um, no, it isn’t.” Dee shuffled his feet on the rough pavement. Now he really wished he’d taken time for shoes, or a jacket, or something. “Heck, I’ve got an apartment. I’d love to split rent with someone.”

A spark of hope glinted in Roman’s eyes, then disappeared, as if he was too scared to let it stay. Dee continued, his teeth chattering.

“Besides, I’m not dropping this case, hon. We’re in the final stages. It’s going to be approved. And,” he said, quieter, softer, “I don’t know—and I never have to know—what Remus did to you. But it’s okay to get away from him. Forgiveness doesn’t mean you have to put yourself back into a toxic situation.”

A moment of bated breath. Dee counted the fourteen freckles (to make sure that they were all there) and stared into Roman’s eyes, the grey-brown irises disbelieving, and brimming with tears, and so _so tired_.

Finally, suddenly, Roman’s face crumpled. “I—I can’t say th-that I wasn't—that I didn’t think—that I wasn’t planning—” he sobbed.

Dee didn’t know what he’d said that had broken the dam, or even if it had been something he’d said, but it didn’t matter. Roman fell into his arms as soon as they were open, burying his face into Dee’s shoulders.

“I—I’m sorry,” Roman gasped, his voice muffled. “I’m sorry I’m so b-broken.”

Dee didn’t know how to respond. He let his fingers comb through Roman’s hair, mumbling something about how it was going to be okay. He wanted to say that he himself had thought the same thing many times. Wanted to tell Roman that he wasn’t broken, he was just hurt, and healing took time. Wanted to say that he would hunt down and threaten whoever had hurt Roman so if they even so much as thought about him.

But he didn’t say any of those things. Instead, Dee just held Roman Gutierrez as he shook, and knew that this was just the beginning of a long challenge. But by Jove, would he do anything for the man crying in his arms.

-

“Come on, Dee. We’ll miss the opening of the gates!”

Dee straightened the bowler hat and smiled at his reflection. Roman had assured him that Steampunk was perfectly acceptable at a Renaissance Festival, so he’d thrown some gears on a dapper suit and bought a patched leather half-mask, matching the leather of his gloves. He flashed a tentative smile at himself, adjusted his frilly collar, then left the bedroom.

The stowaway bed was pulled out of the couch, blankets curled up on it, as well as a stuffed lion. They’d been 'officially’ together for months, but Roman wasn’t comfortable sharing a bed (something that made Dee curse Roman’s abusive boyfriend from the past).

Dee caught sight of his boyfriend by the front door and felt the oxygen leave his lungs. “Wow, Moondrop. Now I know why you wouldn’t let me see it.”

Roman reddened slightly. His princely uniform was a silky white, ornamented with golden accents and a red sash stretching from his right shoulder to his left hip. A sheath at the other hip held a sword Dee knew to be wooden. White pants tucked into tall black boots; shimmering gold make-up applied around his eyes brought out specks of gold in his irises that Dee had never noticed before. The stormy sea that he had always found himself comparing those eyes to now had rays of sun peeking out through the clouds.

A small smile played at Romans lips while he waited for Dee to say something, which made him realize that he had been staring for a little too long.

“Wow,” Dee said again. He leaned closer, swept Roman’s dark hair from his forehead. “You look simply breathtaking. Are you sure you don’t need a crown?” he added.

Roman laughed. “A prince never wears his crown while on an adventure.”

Dee placed a hand on the back of Roman’s head, then leaned in for a kiss. It was quick and light and full of love, and for a moment , he thought he heard some barely-audible violin strains. It had been happening on occasion as of late. He hoped it meant that Roman was happy.

“Let’s go, my prince.”

-

The April morning was crisp as they roamed the festival. Roman bounded ahead, his excitement akin to a small child’s, his smile threatening to split his cheeks. Sometimes, kids pulled on his sleeve and he suddenly became Prince Roman, holding his head higher and telling stories about faraway lands with dragons and slumbering forests and doves made of pure sunlight. Not for the first time, Dee marveled at his imagination. He caught whispers of maybe-Roman’s-music through the dozens of overwhelming tunes that floated in the air. For perhaps the first time, Dee was glad he didn’t have a song of his own. If he did, it would only be adding to the cacophony.

They purchased turkey legs and relaxed to watch some shows—a fire-eater named Dr. Dumpe, an act called Bob The Incredible Juggler, a high-school choir. Under the acts was that music.

Under everything there was music, of course. He was good at ignoring it, but this certain music felt important. And it was always in his ear. Always near Roman.

The song was floating and brash, sad and enthusiastic, pondering and rushed. Strains of strings were echoed by brass instruments, an ensemble of discordants coming together to create beauty. Sometimes, when Roman was entertaining a particularly awestruck bystander, an electric guitar or drumbeat would join the mass, somehow accenting the best parts of the tune. It really was the most wonderful sound Dee had ever heard.

Roman Gutierrez was truly happy. Dee couldn’t help the joy that rose in his chest.

-

“Dee? Are you all right?”

Dee opened the door to his bedroom. He’d shut it as soon as he’d gotten home, needing to be by himself and knowing that Roman liked to be alone right after a rehearsal. Roman stood outside, his hair mussed with sleep.

“How’d rehearsal go?” Dee asked instead. Roman shrugged.

“Fine. I had to call for my line three times.”

“And what good things happened?”

“Um… .” Roman chewed his lip. “I made someone laugh. But what’s up with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Dee lied. “I’m fine.”

Roman sighed. “You never shut your door. What’s wrong?”

He really didn’t want to tell his boyfriend the problem. He was afraid Roman would laugh, or brush him off like Patton always did, comforting him in the moment but making him feel worse in the future. “I, uh. I just get fed up with my face sometimes.”

Roman nodded slowly. “That’s a start. What happened to make you feel bad now?”

“Nothing,” Dee said. “I just—” and it was all going to come out, he could feel it— “Sometimes I think maybe I would be happy if I looked normal! Maybe—maybe I could have a—” He cut himself off. There was no way that was going to get out of his head.

“A what?”

“Nothing,” Dee muttered. “You can go back to bed.” He hated that he did this, he always did this, pushing people away when he needed them the most, not wanting to bother them with his problems. Roman, however, didn’t move. His face was shadowed with stubbornness.

“Dee, you’re here for me on my bad days,” Roman said softly. “Let me be here for you on yours.”

“Maybe I could have a … a family.” Dee cringed, waiting for Roman to say that he did have one, and it was him. That wasn’t what he meant, though. He wanted parents and banter between siblings and a loving home to come to whenever he needed it.

Then Roman’s arms were around him, and Dee was crying into his shoulder, the tears that he’d dried before opening the door coming back tenfold; his face pressed into the Lion King themed t-shirt. Roman’s hands rubbed small circles on his back.

“I love you,” Roman whispered. “I love you. And I’m going to help you.”

“I love you.”

-

“I hear music.”

There were no nerves, like there had been with Patton Esperanza. He smiled wide across the table at Roman, who had frozen, a forkful of syrupy pancakes halfway to his mouth. Roman had made breakfast—Dee had woken to the smell, padded into the kitchen, smiled when he heard that gorgeous music he could now associate with his boyfriend.

“Like, right now?”

“Well, not right now,” Dee replied. Roman’s music had dwindled into silence over breakfast. It was okay. Roman was different from anyone else Dee had known. His music was rare, took much more to play. “But each person has a tune that plays when they have strong feelings of joy or pleasure, or the like.”

“And you … hear this—this music?”

“Yes.” He didn’t understand why Roman seemed so concerned. Now he had doubts—would his boyfriend truly accept him? Or was his confession just the beginning of another painful break-up?

No. He loved Roman. It wouldn’t end like this. Dee pushed back his chair and walked purposefully into the living room. The keyboard wasn’t nearly as dusty as he’d expected, he noticed as he sat before it. The scrapes of a chair pushing back and soft footfalls on carpet alerted him to Roman’s presence behind him.

He hadn’t heard Patton Esperanza’s song in years, but it was still the first thing that came to mind. He let it flow out, a cheery, plunking tune that sounded flat, somehow. It didn’t hurt to play, as he had suspected it would. It felt … boring, like a movie he’d seen one too many times. He cut it off early, looked up at Roman, saw his jaw still hanging open. Probably shocked at just how crazy he was. He cringed inwardly, but looked away.

Silence.

Then Roman spoke, his voice subdued.

“I don’t have one.” It wasn’t a question. It was a sad statement.

Dee hadn’t heard much of his boyfriend’s song, but what he knew he’d been learning, recording pieces of it on a piano app and humming along.

He didn’t close his eyes. He didn’t try to relax. He fumbled through the complex tune, some patches rougher than others, but he heard it come through, and in his head he knew where the trumpets fell, where the flute came in. He stopped as he ran out of material, not sure where the notes were to continue.

“Everyone has a song—except me,” he confessed, feeling a pang of sadness. Every time he thought he was over not having music, it hit him afresh. “Yours is so interwoven and beautiful and loud and _you_. I tried, but I can’t do it justice.”

Again, silence. Dee hadn’t turned around, and he was afraid Roman had left during the rough song. Then, soft hands on his shoulders gently urged him to a standing position, then pulled him around the chair. Fourteen freckles met his gaze, then grey-brown eyes flecked with gold and filling with tears. For a moment that wasn’t near long enough, their lips touched. Dee blinked, not expecting the display of affection, and before he could comprehend what was happening, music was coming from the keyboard.

Roman had sat. The tune his fingers picked out was mysterious, light, curious. Then the tone suddenly changed—still mysterious, still curious, but any light-heartedness had disappeared, replaced with a dark, intricate, compelling quality. Dee found himself lost in the music, the song he’d never heard before, yet was inexplicably familiar. Then it stopped; Dee found himself blinking back tears as he was forcibly jerked to the present.

Roman’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at Dee. “I hear music, too,” he whispered. “And that was yours.”


End file.
